


Don’t Cry Over Spilt Milk

by philsdrill



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Dan Howell - Freeform, Fluff, Lactose Intolerance, M/M, Milk, Panic Attack, Panic Attacks, Phan - Freeform, Phan Fluff, Phandom - Freeform, Phanfiction, Phil Lester - Freeform, phanfic, phanfluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 02:29:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14760890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philsdrill/pseuds/philsdrill
Summary: Phil comes back from the doctors after finding out he’s lactose intolerant, which is hard for him to come to terms with.





	Don’t Cry Over Spilt Milk

**Author's Note:**

> If you feel like you've read this before, I posted this in May 2016 on tumblr. Also if anyone's interested in following me on tumblr - I'm more active on there and there's more fics - you can find me at [philsdrill](https://philsdrill.tumblr.com).

**Phil's POV:**   


“You’re lactose intolerant. You’re lactose intolerant,” The doctor’s words were swirling around inside my head, as I started to think through what this meant.

I couldn’t drink milk, I couldn’t eat cheese. I couldn’t have milk in my cereal, my coffee. I couldn’t eat yoghurt, whipped cream, pizza, milkshakes, chocolate… there were so many good things in life that contained milk. Despite the doctor saying I would be able to stomach a small amount of dairy, I knew this was going to have an effect on my life.

I managed to more or less keep myself together in the taxi on the way home, but I didn’t know what I would do once I’d got there. I’d planned to have a snack of cereal when I got in, but that was going to be rather dry. How did I break this news to Dan? I knew it was nothing big, but it felt it to me. I don’t know if I’d be able to keep myself together long enough to tell him.

I let myself into our building and made my way up the stairs, feeling tears welling in my eyes and sobs ready to break free from my throat. I hoped that Dan was submersed enough in something that he wouldn’t get up to greet me. I was heading straight to my room to hide my face in the duvet and attempt to sort myself out. I should be stronger than this; an almost thirty year old man shouldn’t be crying about having an allergy.

I let myself into our flat, kicked my shoes off, and made my way up to my room. I padded quietly along the hallway, hoping that Dan wouldn’t hear me, entered my room, shut the door behind me, and collapsed on my bed. From that point I lost all the control I’d had, and the tears started to stream down my face, sobbing now uncontrollably.

I didn’t really know how long it had been, but my brain had blocked out all of the outside world. I couldn’t focus on anything other than the shaking sensation that trembled through my body, and trying to breathe enough to keep myself conscious. Breathing was more difficult than it should’ve been, and in my already dazed state of mind, I wondered if I could have more undiagnosed medical conditions up my sleeve. What if I had asthma? What if I had a heart disease and this was the attack to end my life? Was I dying? It certainly felt like it.

The sound of Dan entering the room never reached my ears, and I jumped when I felt his presence, a warm hand on my goosebumped arm.

“Phil, what’s wrong?” he said, this time the sounds getting through to me.

I shook my head, unable to give up some of my precious oxygen to speak. I tried to gesture to him that I was struggling to breathe and for a second he looked concerned, but then a calmer expression appeared on his face.

“Phil, you’re okay. I think you’re having a panic attack,” he said.

I didn’t know how, but Dan managed to collect himself and begin to help me. Sitting on my bed next to me, he gave me a hand to sit up, and put his arm around me to keep it that way. He helped me with what I eventually recognised as breathing exercises, which helped me to take deeper, slower breaths.

I started to feel a little better, a little less on the verge of death, and I think Dan noticed this. He brought his arms around me properly and enveloped me in a hug.

“You’re okay now,” he told me, “D’you feel better?”

I nodded into Dan’s chest, still not quite feeling I could trust myself to speak.

“You can tell me what happened when you’re ready,” Dan said, “But stay here for a little longer. D’you want me to make you a cup of tea?”

I shook my head into Dan’s chest this time, suddenly feeling panic building in my throat. How did I tell him? I couldn’t have tea, because he’d put milk in it.

“A hot chocolate?” Dan suggested.

I shook my head again, holding onto Dan a little tighter.

“C’mon Phil, you need to have something to drink,” Dan said firmly, “You need to get some of your energy back and you’re going to be dehydrated. A coffee?”

“Dan, I’m fucking lactose intolerant. I can’t drink like anything,” I yelled in a sudden outburst, my voice cracking on the last word.

I felt myself begin to shake again, and further tears started to escape from my eyes. There were a good few seconds where I couldn’t feel or hear anything, my senses again being too overwhelmed by the sense of panic.

“Phil, Phil, Phil; it’s okay,” Dan’s words finally broke through, his hands rubbing up and down my back.

I could feel myself starting to hyperventilate again, but only until Dan reminded me how to breathe. He gave me a little space, but encouraged me with words. I slowly got my breathing under control, then reburied my face in Dan’s chest, putting my arms around him and finally relaxing a little.

“Phil, you okay now?” Dan asked me, leaning back from the hug and brushing my hair out of my face.

“I think so,” I sniffed, my voice still a little shaky, “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” Dan said softly, “It’s nothing you can help. Being told that can’t be the easiest thing in the world. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to support you.”

“It’s fine, I wouldn’t expect you to,” I said, “It’s not normal for your friend to come with you to the doctor, is it?”

“No, but I care about you a lot,” Dan said, “I should’ve been with you. Next time, I’ll be there, okay.”

“Thanks,” I said, hugging him again, “And thanks for helping me through that.”

“Any time, Phil,” Dan said, “Though I hope you won’t have to take me up on that offer too often. Do you want to come through to the kitchen with me and I’ll sort you out a drink of Ribena?”

“Okay,” I nodded, proceeding to take the hand that Dan offered me up from my bed.

I followed Dan to the kitchen, him not letting go of my hand the whole time. He got two glasses from the cupboard, poured an inch or so of Ribena into the bottom, and filled them the rest of the way with water. He handed one to me, and left the other on the counter next to him.

“Are you hungry?” he asked me, “We have tons of things you can eat - fruit, bacon, jam, crisps, popcorn - presuming it’s not buttery…”

“I’ll have an apple, I guess,” I told him, “I was planning to have cereal when I came back, before I realised the implications.”

“Okay,” Dan said, passing me the bit of fruit, “Can you have any dairy, or is it a complete no-go?”

“The doctor says I’ll probably be able to have some, but I’ll have to figure out myself what my limit is,” I explained, “But I’m not having any more today, because I had cereal and a coffee this morning, butter in my sandwich at lunch, and then I still feel a bit unwell from the doctor’s tests.”

“Okay,” Dan said, “That’s fine. I’ll need to have a little think about what we have for dinner, but I’m sure we’ll manage. How about we go shopping tomorrow morning, because I know you can get things like lactose-free milk and chocolate?”

“Okay, that would be good,” I said to Dan, feeling a wave of relief as I remembered those products existed; I would be able to have milk in my coffee after all.

“Let’s go to the lounge,” Dan suggested, “You should rest for awhile; let yourself recover from that panic attack.”

I followed Dan to our lounge, where I got settled in my favourite spot on the sofa. Dan did sit in his usual place, but then shuffled closer to me.

“You choose something to put on,” he said, passing me the remote.

I flicked through Netflix until I saw a film that looked interesting to watch, yet basic enough for me to understand in my current state of mind. I made sure that Dan was happy with my choice, before pressing the play button and sitting back to watch it. Relaxing on the sofa, slowly drinking my Ribena and eating an apple, I began to feel a lot less shaky. I was a bit cold, but that was nothing I couldn’t deal with. I’d go and get a blanket when it got too bad.

We were about halfway through the film and it turned out that getting up to go and get a blanket was something I couldn’t be bothered with, so I remained in my spot, curling myself into a ball and dealing with the goosebumps and shivering.

“Phil, you’re shivering,” Dan said, grabbing the remote and pausing the film.

He moved over next to me and brought a warm hand around my forearm, “God, Phil, you’re freezing. I’m going to go and get your duvet; you should have said something.”

“I was going to go and get it,” I told him as he left the room, sounding like a four-year-old defending himself for having misbehaved.

Dan reappeared with my duvet bundled in his arms, and unfolded it on top of me. He sat down on the sofa, but this time right by my side. I felt his left arm sit behind my back and his leg pressed up against mine.

“T-thank you,” I said, glad for the duvet and the body heat that he was willing to share with me.

“It’s alright,” Dan replied, “But if you need anything else, just say, okay?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, pulling the duvet a little closer to try and warm me up.

Dan put the film back on, and we watched the remainder of it pressed up together, Dan’s warmth and my duvet eventually bringing me back to a nicer temperature. I think it was as the credits rolled that I fell asleep, finally giving in to my body’s exhaustion. Dan woke me up for dinner, where he had managed to cook something delicious with no milk. We had chicken with peppers and gravy, and I was pleased to say that I suffered no stomach aches from eating it.

Despite my late afternoon nap, I still decided that I could do with an early night. All that panicking had really drained me of my energy and I would need a full night’s sleep to recover. I was grateful for Dan’s help earlier, and felt like I should do something to repay him - maybe buy him a present for being a good friend - it was something I could think about tomorrow.

Just after I’d got into bed, Dan poked his head around the door to see how I was doing, “Goodnight, Phil. Shout if you need anything, or I’m only in the next room if you need any company. If you feel panicky, try and let me know, okay? Hopefully that won’t happen, but I don’t want you to be alone if it does.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said to Dan, giving him a smile across the room, before I turned my lamp off.

Through the darkness I heard Dan’s feet padding across the room, then a pair of arms wrapped themselves around me for a couple of seconds, and I felt Dan’s warmth against me. He left again, without saying a thing, but leaving a loving warmth in his wake. Deep down, I knew Dan cared, but it was nice to see him showing it. I felt like I could get through this with him by my side. This was one of those times, where I would just have to put it behind me, and not cry over spilt milk.


End file.
